Finding a Place to Dump the Body
by sienna27
Summary: TV Show Episode Title Challenge - Prompt Set #12: Title Challenge: The Assistant - Story 3 of 3 in the Finding'verse. Prequel to Finding a Tree. A few months before H/P get together, Hotch gets a hot new assistant and Emily gets jealous
1. Toil & Trouble

**Author's Note:** Migraines the last few days are impeding the postings. Fracture will hopefully be up later. It depends on whether my headaches come back again. But as I was looking for things that were in near postable condition, this caught my eye. The third story in the Finding'verse. This one takes place BEFORE they get together on Valentine's Day. So at this stage they're both in love but neither is aware of the other's feelings and neither is doing anything about their own feelings beyond a little pathetic pining.

This is the October before _Finding a Tree in the Forest_. And remember this world is a few years away (and Haley's still alive) so Hotch is a bit softer with Emily than he might be otherwise pre official get together.

* * *

**Prompt Set #12**

Show: Just Shoot Me

Title Challenge: The Assistant

* * *

**Toil & Trouble **

"Who's _that_?"

Emily's voice dripped with disdain as she stared at the perky redhead with the big boobs busting out of her blouse. Whoever it was somebody should tell her that she looked like a hooker.

Her skirt was two inches too short, her shirt was at _least_ a size too small (yeah, hi, don't need to see your NIPPLES!), and her heels were WAY too tall!

Like teetering transvestite too tall.

And her makeup . . . Emily wrinkled her nose . . . was she going CLUBBING during her lunch break?

JJ looked up from her coffee preparation to squint across the bullpen, "oh, that's Louisa. She's Hotch's new AA."

Okay . . . JJ squinched her eyes open and closed trying to focus on the redhead . . . maybe it was time to get her vision checked. She'd been putting it off but she shouldn't be squinting like Mr. Magoo to see somebody standing twenty feet away. And mostly likely anyone who might be standing within shooting distance the next time she pulled her weapon would probably agree.

Yeah . . . she made a mental note . . . call Dr. Kamen before she accidentally shot one of her co-workers in the ass.

Emily frowned as she looked back at JJ, "what do you mean, _new_ AA? Where's Betty?"

Betty was a grey haired grandmother six times over. She'd been working at the Bureau since the Nixon administration and for the BAU since the Rossi administration.

The first one.

Once upon a time Betty had worked directly for J. Edgar and she'd told Emily a story about finding a pair of ladies stockings in his desk. She said she thought that he was "seeing some chippy." Come to find out later of course that they were his. Then she'd laughed as she whispered to Emily that if she'd known then what she'd accidentally discovered two years later when she walked into his private bathroom unannounced, that she would have gotten a raise and a bottle of schnapps out of it.

Long story short, Emily LOVED Betty.

JJ shrugged as she shot a glance at Emily over her coffee cup, "she retired on Friday. She _was_ 67. And she should have been gone two years ago but you know that she knows everybody and his mother so she called God and got herself extended somehow," JJ took a sip of her coffee, "the new girl seems nice enough."

Though she was dressed a little inappropriately for the office, but JJ assumed that maybe she just didn't know any better. God knows who was going to set her straight on that point though.

JJ certainly wasn't going to say anything to her, that was management's job. And she really didn't see Hotch, or . . . JJ snorted to herself . . . Dave, sitting the girl down and telling her to throw on a parka.

If it was up to Dave he'd probably have all the women walking around dressed like extras in an Austin Powers movie.

Stunned at JJ's announcement, Emily spun around so quickly that she splattered her coffee all over the break room table and floor.

"RETIRED?! What?! Like she's gone, FOREVER?! How did I not know this!?"

For God's sake, Emily had only been out for ONE day! She'd gone to San Francisco for her friend's engagement party and had taken a long weekend. How can someone who has worked here for forty years disappear and get replaced in ONE day?!

Seeing the mess Emily had just made, JJ's Mom Button immediately popped on and she turned to grab her friend a stack of paper towels as she answered her question.

"Well, Hotch said that she told him that she didn't want any fuss. And that if he told one person then everyone would know."

Though she kind of understood where Betty was coming from . . . JJ didn't like a lot of fuss either . . . she was still pretty upset to find out she was just . . . gone. If Betty had just waited until the afternoon she left before she said anything, then she could have accomplished the same no fuss result but at least given people a little closure.

This was just really abrupt.

It took Emily a moment to process what JJ said, and then her lip came out, "but . . . but I didn't get to say goodbye."

That totally sucked. Betty had been so sweet to her. She made cookies and remembered birthdays and she'd been the one to tell Emily all of the really important things when she first started.

Like which copy machine left streaks on your paper (back left corner), which agent got drunk at the holiday party and played grab ass (Kowalski and Crookshanks), and which bathroom stall door didn't lock right so you ended up having people barge in on you sitting on the can (left side, third door down).

That last one was particularly embarrassing when you were the one doing the barging and it was your new chief that was the bargee. That had happened to Emily on the first day of her assignment out in Portland.

Needless to say, she had NOT started out on the right foot in Oregon.

So clearly the stuff Betty taught was the stuff that you _really_ needed to know in a new job and usually took a . . . sometimes traumatizing . . . trial and error period to pick up.

Not to mention . . . Emily moved beyond her selfish concerns to more empathetic ones . . . Hotch had ADORED Betty! Even with somebody who kept his emotions so close to his vest it had been obvious to Emily from the beginning how fond he was of her.

But of course Betty was awesome. She could make anything happen, and she made it all seem so easy. And now she was gone and replaced with this . . . Emily scowled . . . hoochie.

That totally sucked.

JJ pouted slightly, "I know, I didn't get to say goodbye either. Hotch told me when I got in," her eyes brightened slightly, "though she did leave a note for me with him," JJ looked over at Emily hopefully, "maybe she left one for you too."

As soon as the words were out of her mouth JJ cringed . . . God, what if Betty DIDN'T leave Emily a note!? Then Emily would feel like a TOTAL loser.

Crap.

Emily perked up slightly as her eyes shifted up to their boss' office across the bullpen, "oh, well, okay. Then I'll go see Hotch and see if he has anything for me."

She started to walk away but then JJ cut in smoothly.

"Uh, how about you clean up your coffee first lady?"

Oops . . . Emily cringed as her eyes dropped down . . . right. Her latest graceful move was splattered over half the kitchen. And when she turned around she saw JJ smirking at her as she shoved the roll of paper towel into her hands.

"I clean up after Henry, that's it. So unless you've been listed as a dependent on last year's tax returns, you're getting that," she pointed to the brown puddles splattered about, "yourself there missy."

Emily laughed as she started tearing off a few strips, "if I was going to claim myself on anyone's tax returns it would be Dave's," she crouched down and started cleaning up her mess as she joked, "I always wanted a sugar daddy."

Actually what she ALWAYS wanted was one of those craftmatic adjustable beds and a jacuzzi in the bathroom, but she figured having access to somebody with a black AMEX was probably the fastest route to making her dreams come true.

JJ started to giggle, "I know, right. We should see if he'll take us on in concubine status."

Emily snorted and then burst out laughing at the mental image of her and JJ dressed up as geishas for Rossi. Still chuckling, she looked up at her friend, "I find it interesting that the first thing YOU thought was concubine. I was just thinking inappropriately adopted past the age of thirty, foster daughter," her eyebrow rose in amusement, "if you're on concubine status you do know that you're going to have to sleep with him, right?"

It was well known that JJ . . . though happily married . . . had more than a little crush on Dave. And visa versa actually. Not that either of them would do anything about it. But for all the crap Emily put up with being the last single girl on the team . . . regularly listening to happily paired off people talking about how wonderful their significant others were occasionally got a little tedious/nauseating . . . it was fun to push her happily coupled friends' buttons on occasion. And seeing the rising pink glow on JJ's cheeks was giving Emily no small amount of amusement.

But then it got even better when she heard Hotch's voice ask from behind them.

"Who has to sleep with whom?"

Hotch stepped into the kitchen with Dave from the back stairs. He'd only caught the last four words of Emily's sentence but it was definitely a sentence that Hotch felt required further explanation.

Especially if the explanation involved Emily sleeping with him.

Not that he thought that it WAS about Emily sleeping with him. It's just that given that he had recently acknowledged to himself that he was head over heels in love with her . . . and that at some point a few decades from now he might decide to do something about that . . . it would be a step in the right direction if Emily was having impure thoughts about him as well.

Or really any thoughts at all would work.

As far as his knowledge of any romantic feelings on her part he was presently a blind man driving at night during a snowstorm.

There was complete silence for a moment as the women stared at each other. And then to JJ's horror Emily's lips started to twitch right before she burst out laughing again.

Great . . . JJ huffed . . . now the guys were going to know for sure that it was about her! And she was absolutely MORTIFIED at the thought of EITHER of them thinking that she was considering having sexual relations with him!

Though admittedly her mortification with each of them was for two totally different reasons. And as JJ realized that the silence was stretching out . . . Emily now just had an evil smirk on her face . . . JJ could feel her already warm face start to get even hotter as she shook her head violently.

"Uh, nobody," she stammered. And as Dave and Hotch both raised an eyebrow she said more emphatically, "really it was nothing!"

Oh Dear GOD! Is there not a hole she can drop into right now!

Hotch and Dave exchanged an amused look . . . it was hard to get JJ that flustered so Hotch knew that at least one of the sexual dance partners was his media liaison. So unfortunately that meant it wasn't about him and Emily.

Damn.

Still though, this appeared to be a good conversation they'd just stumbled into so Hotch directed his amused eyebrow in Emily's direction, "Prentiss, do you have a better answer than JJ?"

Yes, he did acknowledge that his curiosity had absolutely no basis in anything more altruistic than he enjoyed a good piece of gossip as well as the next person. Just because he didn't stand by the water cooler to get it didn't mean that he didn't have his sources.

All three said sources were standing right in front of him.

And as expected, Emily . . . who was his conduit to all of the really good gossip that he didn't get from Dave . . . began to helpfully fill in the blanks.

"Well, let's see," Emily started slowly so she could torture JJ, "we were talking about tax returns and then JJ said . . ."

"EMILY!" JJ shrieked as she cut off her friend with a wild flapping of her hands, "JUST . . . JUST . . . SHHHHHHH!!!"

What was WRONG with her!?

Dave's eyes twinkled as he looked at JJ . . . busted. Well, he'd have his fun with her later . . . his eyes dropped down to Emily on her hands and knees . . . right now there was a much more obvious joke that needed to be made.

"You know Emily," he began nonchalantly, "if you're going to get yourself into that position I have some other stuff you could be polishing."

Emily turned to shoot a good natured, "you're a pig Dave," over her shoulder and Hotch rolled his eyes.

The man was a walking, talking sexual harassment suit.

And as Hotch grabbed the paper towel off the table and crouched down to help Emily clean up the coffee spill, he shot the other man a look of exasperation.

"Can you go ONE day without violating Section 32?" Then he scowled as he waved the towel in his face, "and how about you help her instead of just adding a running commentary to the moment?"

Recently Hotch had noticed that he'd gotten a little more protective of Emily since his revelation about his feelings for her. Admittedly that could be somewhat awkward if he started hollering at random strangers who were less than courteous to her.

But this . . . he rolled his eyes at the look of indignation on Rossi's face . . . this was only Dave.

Emily floated a soft smile over to Hotch as he scowled at Rossi before he began wiping up the droplets outside the main disaster zone.

It was so sweet when he went all "grrr" on her behalf. And one of these days she was going to tell him how she felt about him doing things like that. And by "tell him" she meant that she was going to have majorly carnal relations with him on his nice oak desk. In her fantasies she even accounted for splinters.

That's what desk blotters were for.

In response to Hotch's rebuke, Dave shot his own scowl back to the man on the floor, "hey, I was just talking about my SHOES! You people are the ones with the dirty minds."

No, he didn't think anyone would really buy that one. But his little off color joke had fallen a bit flat because by getting down and helping Emily clean up the mess, Hotch had actually just made him look like an ass. So Dave was going for a little deflection. But his choice of wording on said deflection didn't seem to be working because both of the women had just shot him an eyebrow. And then JJ said incredulously.

"You really think that's _better_?"

Moments like this were what allowed her to keep her little crush firmly under lock and key. The knowledge that on occasion Dave seemed to be transported back to the good old days before women could own land.

Dave responded with an opening and a closing of his jaw and Emily smirked, "come one Jayj, he's trading up from sexual harassment to plain old sexist." To which Hotch muttered under his breath, "baby steps."

Emily was the only one close enough to hear Hotch's comment and she started to chuckle as she went to push herself up off the floor. But Hotch . . . who was the most chivalrous man she knew . . . immediately put his hand out to help her, "here," he rose from the floor, pulling her up with him.

Just as she turned to smile her thanks, Emily heard the new girl call Hotch's name and he looked away.

Damn it!

"Oh Agent Hotchner," Luisa hurried over breathlessly, "I'll do that, you'll get your suit dirty!"

Emily barely restrained her eye roll as she shared a look with JJ.

GAG!

Nothing like a bit of mutual nausea to declare a truce to their little bit of good natured teasing. Because it had just become apparent to both of them that Luisa was a 'Fawner.' Emily now had another reason to hate her beyond the fact that she'd shown up dressed like she was going to the Viper Room.

Okay . . . she frowned . . . she was slightly dating herself with that club. But at least she hadn't said Studio 54. Really, what the hell was the cool place to be these days?

Off topic Emily, off topic. What was her point?

THE FAWNERS!

Right, she HATED The Fawners! Occasionally a woman (agent, admin, lab technician, title held no relevance in the world of the Fawners) walked into the BAU, caught sight of Hotch's (admittedly) gorgeous features and she undid a button on her blouse and started fluttering her lashes at him fast enough to create an actual air current.

This was especially true of the young girls who were trying to get ahead . . . or of course the slutty ones who were just trying to get laid.

Though Emily had noticed that for the most part Hotch seemed to be fairly oblivious on this topic. Or if he was aware of what was happening he hid it well. But for the most part Emily was pretty sure that the obliviousness wasn't an act. For all of his observational super powers, his laser sharp focus on the cases meant that he was pretty much an 'all work all the time, straight and narrow' kind of guy.

Hence Emily's difficulties in subtly working 'full on carnal knowledge' into one of their numerous off duty conversations.

In his standard crisply professional tone (one Emily now only received when they were in front of a room full of local LEOs), Hotch brushed off Luisa's concern, "we're done, but thank you anyway." And Emily couldn't help but wonder if Luisa would have been quite so gung ho about slopping up the coffee spill if she knew said spill was Emily's and not McHotchpants (yes Emily had actually heard an intern call him that cringeworthy name in the bathroom a few years ago).

Then she saw Luisa shoot her an appraising look that Hotch didn't see and Emily had her answer.

No, she most definitely would not have assisted with the cleanup if she'd known it was Emily's. Clearly she saw Emily as being the interloper. Though obviously SHE was the interloper trying to get her perfectly manicured red claws into Hotch!

Okay, it was official . . . Emily's jaw twisted . . . she hated her guts.

As Hotch reached over to take the dirty paper towels from Emily's hand, he also tipped his head in her direction, "Luisa Perkins these are Agents Prentiss and," he gave Dave an even look, "Rossi."

'_Don't be an ass_' was very clearly the psychic vibe Hotch was trying to send.

Seeing the look Hotch was shooting him, Dave smirked as he put his hand out to the hot redhead, "you can call me Dave." She gave him a wide smile as they exchanged the perfunctory professional handshake and then a second later . . . to Dave's amusement . . . Emily put her hand out and said crisply, "Prentiss." And Luisa simply gave a curt nod in response.

Dave's eyebrow rose in amusement . . . meow. Oh yeah . . . he almost rubbed his hands together . . . this was going to be a fun week. And . . . he looked across the bullpen . . . where the hell was Derek?!

He'd be loving this!

It took some effort for Emily to not squeeze the other woman's hand until she brought her to her knees. She'd found that in the past that generally scaring the crap out of people was a good way to drive them far, far away. And after simply knowing of this woman's EXISTENCE for five minutes, Emily knew that she wanted her as far away from Hotch as possible!

But unfortunately an unprovoked battery on an unarmed, untrained young girl probably wasn't the most mature . . . or legal . . . manner of dealing with her issues here.

One thing was for sure . . . her eyes ran over the little hussy distastefully . . . this one had to go.

Emily had seen her share of Luisas over her years at the Bureau and they all had the same shelf life. They stuck around until they got what they wanted or were able to hitch their hiked up skirts to another wagon. And there was no way that this one was going to cut it in the BAU of all places. So Emily would probably just have to tolerate her presence for a few weeks, a month at the most.

And if she wasn't gone by then . . . well, Emily would take more directed action.

Pushing her new thorn out of her mind for the moment, Emily's expression brightened considerably as she turned to Hotch.

"Hey," she jerked her head towards his office, "can I talk to you for one second?"

Now . . . while it was quiet . . . seemed to be the best time to ask him if Betty had left a note for her too. And if she hadn't then Emily really didn't want to ask him here in the kitchen and be humiliated in front of the entire bullpen.

"Of course," Hotch said as he put his arm out for Emily to step in front of him. But then Louisa cut in with a purr, "oh sir, you can't talk to Agent Prentin right now, you have that meeting with the Budget liaison and Section Chief Strauss in five minutes."

"Prent_iss_," Hotch corrected firmly before he looked over at Emily apologetically, "I forgot, Budget meeting this morning."

Realizing that his hands were sticky from the coffee, Hotch stepped over to wash them as he asked Emily over his shoulder, "can we catch up a little later?"

Emily's lip quirked up, "yeah, it'll keep. Nothing major."

Beyond just wanting to know if Betty left him a note for her, Emily also wanted to see how _he_ was doing without Betty. Hotch wasn't inclined to be chatty with his feelings but she knew that her departure had to have bothered him.

But fortunately over the years Emily had discovered that usually he would talk to her if she broke out her pointy stick and poked him a bit. Sometimes he talked to Dave too but Rossi had more of a, 'swift kick in the ass' approach to getting people to spill their guts.

She preferred the soft feminine whiles cajoling thing.

"Okay," just before he turned away Hotch impulsively shot Emily half a dimple, "I'll track you down when I'm done."

Damn. He really shouldn't be bringing out the dimples during work hours. But he was pleased to have some quiet . . . non autopsy suite . . . time with Emily to look forward to. Even if he had decided that a life of quiet desperation without her was his foreseeable future, that didn't mean he didn't take any opportunity he could to have time alone with her.

That was one of the perks of being the boss and setting the partner assignments . . . he could pathetically pine for the woman he loved from up close rather than then the clichéd, "afar."

And really . . . he ran across the bullpen to go grab his spreadsheets for the meeting . . . she didn't seem to mind those partner assignments either so it was a win/win.

Emily watched Hotch go with a twinkle in her eye . . . she did so love those dimples. Then she turned back to see Dave looking at her and she scowled.

"Problem, Rossi?"

He was forever making little insinuations about her and Hotch. He'd been trying to pair them off for so long that he was the only middle aged Italian male who could safely be called a yenta. And though she knew that his comments weren't mean spirited . . . or even his usual off color teasing . . . she really didn't wish to listen to them any longer.

If there was any way out of her little non fraternization, supervisor/supervisee coffin she was stuck in she would have found it by now.

God knows that she'd looked. But the bottom-line was _always_ going to be that Hotch was Hotch and Hotch didn't break the rules. And she wasn't going to ruin their wonderful friendship with any sort of awkward, pathetic discussion of her "feelings" for him.

So her crush was going to remain unrequited, undeclared and unfulfilled until one or both of them retired or dropped dead. She felt confident that hurling herself onto his open grave was unlikely to result in any disciplinary action.

Though him dropping dead was of course the least palatable out of those two options so she was really just looking forward to retirement.

Thank God the Bureau put them out to pasture early.

Seeing the look on Emily's face, Dave put his hands up as he smiled sweetly, "no problem at all. I was simply admiring your outfit today. Is it new?"

He was going to make a remark about her and the new girl, but clearly now was not the time. Actually . . . he saw her look down at her outfit . . . now was the time to make a speedy getaway.

Emily's gaze dropped to review her chosen wardrobe that morning.

Black suit, white tank top.

Yeah . . . she rolled her eyes . . . Project Runway was going to be calling her any minute.

What the hell was he talking about, 'is it new'? She'd worn it twice in the past two weeks. But when looked up to ask him if he'd been drinking that morning she saw that he'd already cleared half of the bullpen and was heading up to his office.

Her lips twitched . . . diversionary tactic to keep from getting yelled at.

_Well played Mr. Rossi._

////////

As Hotch hurried up the stairs to his office he noticed that Luisa was scrambling along beside him.

He shot her a look as he ran in to grab his portfolio off the desk.

"Did you need something else?"

Unless it was an emergency he'd think she'd have better judgment than to stop him again now. After all . . . as she'd just pointed out . . . if he didn't have time to talk to Emily, then he certainly didn't have time to talk to her.

"Oh no sir," she stopped right in front of him, blocking his path, "I just wanted to make sure that you didn't need anything else."

His brow darkened slightly at her incursion into his space . . . there was barely a foot between them . . . and he was just about to brush past her with "a no thank you," when Luisa reached up and brushed off his shoulder.

"Lint," she smiled sweetly, "just wanted you to look your best sir."

He stared at her for a moment before he tipped his head, "I'll be back in an hour." And he stepped around her and walked out the door.

Okay . . . his jaw twitched slightly as he started down the steps . . . that was rather forward. Everyone knew that he didn't like to be touched.

Well . . . he suddenly flashed on a raven haired beauty with a killer right hook . . . that wasn't entirely true. He was perfectly okay with Emily touching him, but he knew that was a totally different 'calling Dr. Freud' conversation.

Though as he thought about it he realized that in theory he was okay with JJ or Garcia touching him as well, but they really weren't inclined to do so. Certainly not like Emily . . . was.

Huh. Why was she so physically demonstrative with him when she wasn't with the others? Could she . . .?

No Aaron . . . he cut off that line of inquiry with a shake of his head . . . best not to dwell on what that might or might not mean at the moment. It probably meant nothing. And if it meant something he'd just be torturing himself as he walked to a meeting that was going to provide plenty of torture on it's own.

He got back on point with his issue with Luisa's actions. He maintained his own personal space in the world and expected those outside of his immediate family (bloodline and team) to do the same.

And Luisa was not part of his family.

But . . . he rolled his eyes . . . he did acknowledge that his feelings in this regard were perhaps a bit more rigid than most people's. So a simple brushing of the lint off the shoulder might seem rather forward to him but probably was . . . objectively speaking . . . simply an attempt on Luisa's part to be solicitous and ingratiate herself to her new supervisor.

Regardless . . . he pushed his way back through the glass doors and into the hall . . . perhaps he could persuade Emily to say something to Luisa about his feelings on this particular topic.

_Don't touch him unless there was a bullet flying at his head._

Really . . . he shook his head in exasperation as he stepped onto the elevator . . . how hard was it to remember his number one rule?

* * *

_A/N 2: Luisa is not an improbable employee for the FBI. She's loosely based on a group of secretaries that I knew at a different law enforcement agency. I called them "The Heathers, 1, 2, and 3." They were these skanky twenty-one year old girls that were hired as a favor to somebody in charge. They came to work dressed like it was a Friday night and they flirted with every man that held the slightest bit of authority. They gossiped about other women like it was high school, slept AROUND like it was high school and of course all three of them were dumb as a bag of rocks. And as useless as well, rocks. Needless to say, I hated them. And the feeling was mutual. But unfortunately for THEM I was friends with the chief ;) They didn't know that. And one magical day, Heather #1 got sent away and it was like cutting the head off a demon. The other two fell in line and buttoned up. It turned out to be a great thing though because as soon as I saw the "assistant" prompt I flashed on those girls again and pictured Emily's reaction to them. Hence a story was born :)_

_There were no redheads amongst the Heathers though. Two brunettes and a blonde, I just use real people for inspiration. It would be creepy to write them verbatim. _

_Though we never get to talk to the other people in the BAU, I'm convinced one of them is Hotch's "real" Betty. Admins make the world go round and to keep the BAU running like a machine while he's out of town, Hotch would have to have somebody there to keep him up to speed on all the crap that it takes to make a government unit run efficiently. And I loved the idea of writing Jealous Emily in a world where she has NO claim at all to Hotch. And of course Hotch has no interest at all in this girl, right now he simply thinks that she's being over exuberant in her approach rather than all of the unkind things that Emily thinks she is. That's also why I've left Luisa's internal voice completely out of the story. I want her words and actions to be as interpretive to the reader as they are to the characters. It's also fun expanding the ridiculous internal thought bubbles that you get in this Finding universe over to JJ and Dave too. I do have plans to write a larger spin off story for them in Girl so I'm trying to brush up on different styles of their voices._

_Like the Valentine's one, this will be a three shot. The second part's almost done so I guess it should be all posted within the next two weeks. Perhaps earlier but obviously I'm wrapping like four different stories right now. I'll just keep posting whatever gets done first._

_If my headaches stay away, I'm expecting to get the Fracture up later tonight. I'm also setting up Kavi's and my new author challenge forum._


	2. Oh No She Didn't

**Author's Note**: Pulling yet another dusty one off the shelf. If all goes well, hopefully everything in the ongoing bin will get an update this month. I think literally every one of them has a draft or more pending so whatever your personal favorite, you might be getting something on it by early next month.

To this, again this is part of the Finding'verse, the prequel to Hotch and Em getting together on Valentine's. Remember the stories in this world are intended to be on the lighter side of ridiculous. Not as ridiculous as the _Being_ stories, but, close enough :)

**

* * *

Prompt Set #8**

**Show**: Teen Titans

**Title:** Fanning the Flames

**

* * *

Oh No She Didn't**

Hotch got back from his meeting two hours later than he'd planned, which was three and a half hours after he'd left the bullpen. When he walked into his office, his papers were dropped unceremoniously onto his desk, his ass dropped unceremoniously into his chair, and then his head dropped unceremoniously into his hands.

Good Christ . . . he huffed into his palms . . . that was hell. _Literally_, hell. And he was speaking as somebody who once spent six hours in a claustrophobically small room with a man who had made a Christmas stew out of his next door neighbors.

But he would gladly spend another full day trading recipes with Dr. Lecter than spend another hour sitting with the Finance people doing a line by line budget review for 2011 planning. At least the cannibal had something interesting . . . though admittedly _horrifying_ . . . to talk about. The accountants were just . . . Hotch shuddered . . . soul sucking.

And then he realized that was exactly the wrong analogy to make because now he had the image of little vampire accountants in his head.

Great.

Garcia and her damn Twilight fixation.

Okay . . . he lifted his head . . . enough meditation on pocket protector wearing cannibalistic teen heartthrobs carrying little calculators. It was time to straighten up before somebody walked through the open door and saw him hiding his face in his hands.

Given that he was the chief of one of the most elite units in the Bureau, that would not be one of the most confidence inspiring situations for somebody to walk into. So for the sake of the Unit's reputation as not being a bunch of pansies, Hotch straightened up, rubbing his hand across his mouth as he looked over the stacks of files on his desk.

It seemed like there were more now than when he had left.

Great.

And then something else caught his eye and his gaze snapped back and forth in astonishment between his phone and computer.

What the HELL?

The voicemail count was NINE and . . . he swiveled his head again . . . the email the box showed TWENTY-TWO unread messages! And that was twenty-two messages from twenty-two DIFFERENT people!

God . . . he scowled in disgust . . . he'd only been gone for THREE HOURS! Had there been a nuclear holocaust while he was out and nobody had paged him?

With a grunt Hotch's gaze flickered around his desk again, trying to decide which set of items to tackle first, the stack of new folders, the blinking red voicemails or the flood of emails.

But then he suddenly flashed on a much more pleasant item on his To Do list.

Emily.

Okay . . . he backtracked slightly in his head . . . unfortunately he couldn't actually "do" Emily (and even if he could, she probably wouldn't appreciate the verb choice there) but earlier she had said that she wanted to talk to him when he had a minute. And given that he had a minimum of thirty-one people urgently wishing to speak to him on matters of great import . . . he reached for the phone . . . clearly this was the _perfect_ time to blow all of them off and not flirt for five to seven minutes with the woman that he wished to someday share his Polident and early bird specials with.

Unfortunately just as he started to punch in Emily's extension Hotch remembered that she hadn't been at her desk when he walked passed it a few minutes ago. And when he raised himself slightly off his chair to peek out the window he saw that she still hadn't returned.

Damn.

His jaw twisted as he put the phone back in the cradle . . . okay, looks like he was going to actually have to do some work. But before that . . . his fingers fell onto the keyboard . . . he decided to shoot her a quick email.

_Subject: Me_

_Hey, I've returned from Budget hell. Now in email hell so feel free to interrupt._

_-H_

_P.S. Saw SSA Eldridge in the elevator, she said to say hello. I know that you hate her so I refused to pass along the message. _

His lips twitched as he hit send . . . that would make her laugh. Because she did indeed hate Connie Eldridge. Hotch wasn't sure if it was because of the other woman's size triple D breasts or her hyena like laugh, but either way, Emily had once expressed the desire to see her drop kicked out of the baggage hold of a moving 747.

Unfortunately for Emily, Eldridge seemed to genuinely adore her. She copied her mannerisms, her haircut . . . Emily had gotten the bangs just because she figured the other woman would look horrible in them . . . and even her lunch orders.

Emily had once choked down a foot long meatball hero with a double order of sardines, chipotle and hot sauce in an effort to break her of that last one. She was trying to make Eldridge throw up.

It worked. She did indeed throw up . . . and then Emily did ten minutes later.

Still though, in between gags as she tossed that vile sandwich up in the cafeteria trash barrel, Emily had shot him a triumphant grin over her shoulder as he held her hair back.

Was it any wonder he fell in love with her?

And as much as Emily tried to convince him that Eldridge had stalker tendencies, they both knew it was just hero worship. She was twenty-four and thought Emily walked on water.

Hell, Hotch was forty-eight and he felt the same way! However as he checked his watch he realized that he'd just killed three and a half minutes daydreaming about said water walker. And though that was probably less time than Eldridge had spent thinking about her today, that was probably four minutes longer than he as her supervisor should be focusing on a woman that had no idea he was in love with her.

So Hotch refocused on the matter at hand by doing a quick eeney meeney . . . a decision making technique he'd picked up from Jack . . . and ended up pointing at his PC.

And with a weary huff, he began plowing through his Inbox.

/*/*/*/*/

Emily sighed in disgust as she yanked open the glass doors of her home away from home. Forty minute hike across campus and down to the bowels of the Academy only to find out that Dr. Griffin still hadn't completed the autopsy report that had been promised last night on those remains shipped in from Boise. And then he asks her if she'd like to stay and wait while he finished it, that she could have lunch with him.

In the MORGUE!

Though in retrospect her gagging openly before she bit out a sarcastic, "_uh_ NO!" was probably a slightly over the top response. But seriously, GROSS!

Then it got even worse though when she realized from the hurt look on his face that the invitation for lunch in the morgue was a very awkward attempt at engaging in some sort of social, date like behavior. And really, even if he hadn't had that weird mole taking over half of his left cheek, Emily had no desire to engage in any social, date like behavior with anyone who spent his days elbow deep in rotting corpses.

Okay, yeah granted given her job that might be a little bit of the 'brick tossing from the Waterford crystal house' of her, but really, her crew were only like FINGER deep in corpses. Not elbow. Unless circumstances were dire, they stayed out of the icky stuff. Well . . . Emily rolled her eyes as she crossed the bullpen . . . Hotch referred to it as not "compromising the scene" but whatever.

The point was, dead people doctors as romantic partners . . . or chefs . . . really grossed her out. And once she'd realized that the dead people doctor in question was attempting to not only _woo_ her but feed her as well, Emily had beat a hasty retreat under the pretext that she'd forgotten she had a meeting.

Basically it was a totally wasted, totally uncomfortable trip that she was going to have to pawn off on Reid next time because she so could not show her face down there again for a solid fortnight.

As she walked up to her desk, Emily felt herself begin to relax slightly as her gaze automatically shifted up to see if Hotch had returned from his meeting yet.

Oooh . . . her eyes lit up . . . yes!

And she was just about to oh so casually bop upstairs and say "hey, what's up hopefully future father of my children," or maybe just "hello" when she remembered that Dave was waiting on that autopsy report that she had not been able to retrieve because she wasn't willing to stay and break bread with Dr. Death.

So . . . she sighed . . . maybe should be a teensy bit responsible and actually address that minor work related matter prior to going up and NOT flirting with her super hot boss when she asked him if Betty had left her a letter before she rolled out for parts unknown.

The story of her life . . . she dropped down into her seat . . . work first, flirt later. Then she rolled her eyes as she saw that there were three voicemails in her box.

Why do people insist on leaving voicemails when email was so much more convenient? Yes, she saw the point of ATTEMPTING to reach a live person, but once it's obvious that boat has sailed, hang up the damn phone! Nobody wants to listen to you rattle.

Case in point . . . she began tapping her pen in annoyance at the first message . . . fifty-seven seconds (Emily was watching the counter) into her rambling ramble from Ramble Town, the Las Vegas M.E. decides that maybe it would be easier to email the answers to the BAUs questions rather than to try to leave them all on the voicemail.

Ya think?

Emily's finger banged down on option three . . . DELETE! And then she heard the identity of the second caller, and knowing that that message . . . from her mother . . . was going to be a test of strength, she shifted the phone over to her shoulder as she pulled up her email.

Might as well gun down two birds with one bullet.

That was a good call on her part, because her irritation immediately melted when she saw that on the list of eight new emails in the box, the first one was from Hotch.

Yay!

Her eyes crinkled . . . the man apparently could now psychically sense when she needed cheering up. Already starting to feel better, her lip quirked up as she started to read the message over, and then she got to the end and burst out laughing.

He really was frigging adorable sometimes.

Hell, he was frigging adorable all the time. 'Angry, Scary Hotch,' 'Uber Intense Laser Sharp Focus Hotch,' 'Warm Cuddly Daddy Hotch,' 'Bullet Proof Vest Hotch' . . . really . . . she felt a little pool of warmth in her belly . . . she couldn't pick a favorite.

Though 'Funny, Slightly Flirty Hotch' (who she noticed seemed to have been making more frequent appearances as of late) was the one that had popped up in her Inbox. So that was her personal favorite Hotch for the day.

And not wanting to let Funny, Slightly Flirty Hotch disappear back into the closet before she had a chance to play with him . . . so to speak . . . Emily decided that her due diligence update to Dave could wait for ten to twelve minutes. So she gave up on the idea of cleaning out her voicemail and typing up the notes she'd taken in the morgue to instead drop her phone back in the cradle.

Then she did a mental rundown of her appearance, remembered that it had been windy on the quad and ran her fingers through her hair to smooth out the tousled strands. Then she popped a white tic tac into her mouth and applied a quick coat of clear lip gloss over her earlier coat of Passion Red lipstick.

Yes, admittedly it was a little pathetic to be primping for a quick convo with a man that she regularly spent ten to twelve hours a day with. A man who just last week had casually pointed out to her in the morning briefing that she had half a dozen poppy seeds stuck in her teeth . . . it was Bagel Day in the caf . . . but one of these days that same man might just decided that it was time to toss her on his desk and have his way with her like it was a cheesy bodice ripping romance novel and she wanted to make sure that she had kissable lips and minty fresh breath when that happened.

Just before she got up, Emily remembered that she also needed to give Hotch some money. The other day they'd gone out to lunch and it had been her turn to pay but she'd forgotten her wallet so he'd had to cover. Of course he wanted to just pay for the meal outright but she insisted that it was her turn and that she'd pay him back. Then she kept forgetting. But finally this morning she'd remembered to stop at the ATM to take out the twenty bucks.

Of course . . . she though back with a residual stab of irritation . . . the only reason she'd forgotten her wallet the other day when they went to lunch was because it was in her desk drawer rather than in her bag where it belonged. And the reason that it was in her desk then . . . she opened her bottom drawer . . . and NOW, was that she had to start hiding it a few weeks ago when Reid started paying for HIS lunch with HER spare cash.

Jackass.

Emily slipped her wallet out from the empty redwell she'd hidden it in, and then pulled out the tiny wad of cash she'd tucked into the fold.

Except . . . her brow wrinkled as she spread out the bills in her hand . . . SIX BUCKS!

What the . . .? Where the **hell** was the twenty?

Her head snapped up as she shot Reid a deadly look across her desk.

"God DAMN it Spencer! Have you been in my wallet AGAIN?"

The last time he'd "borrowed" money from her wallet without asking was two weeks ago. And the money he'd taken she'd been saving specifically for a baby gift donation. So when Agent Mendoza came around with the collection envelope Emily had been mortified when she opened her wallet to discover that she had absolutely no cash on her at all.

And she looked like a total spaz because she'd _specifically_ TOLD the woman to stop by because she had the money with her! Emily had been so embarrassed that she'd ended up sending an eighty dollar edible arrangement to the hospital just because she'd felt like such a loser thinking that she'd spent the money and then forgot. It was only the next day that she discovered that in actuality REID had taken it for a cafeteria activity known fondly across the campus as, "Taco Wednesday!" A gourmand's celebration which had nearly resulted for Reid in another fun activity Emily liked to refer to as, "Intensive Care Thursday!"

So today when she shot the Hellfire Glare across the desk at him (yes, she'd learned that glare from Hotch) Reid's eyes shot wide in terror as he vehemently shook his head back and forth.

"NO!" He threw his hands up protectively in front of his face as he yelped back, "NO EMILY! I ABSOLUTELY DID **NOT **TAKE YOUR MONEY!"

Like he'd EVER do that again! The welt on his arm was still fading from the LAST time he'd borrowed money without asking!

Emily narrowed her eyebrows at Reid . . . hmm, he seemed suitably terrified but perhaps he was only pissing his pants because he HAD indeed taken her money again and was terrified of the consequences. As well he should be. Because if he'd put his sticky little fingers into her wallet again then he was about to become reacquainted with a high school favorite known as the atomic wedgie.

And she was just about to begin her interrogation of him when Morgan sauntered back to their area and dropped a twenty on her desk.

"Hey," he said casually, "I had to borrow some cash while you were out. Here's your twenty back."

Emily looked up at Morgan in astonishment before her eyes shot over to Reid again.

"Why the hell are you two CONSTANTLY in my wallet? Do you not ALSO receive monetary compensation for coming to the office every day? Is this volunteer work for you?" She shot a dedicated scowl at Derek, "something ordered by the court perhaps?"

DOUCHEBAGS!

Morgan chuckled at Emily's dramatics as he dropped into his seat.

"Girl, cool your jets. You're just the only one who leaves her money _at_ her desk. The rest of us keep it in our back pocket. If you kept your wallet _on_ you like the rest of us do, then it wouldn't be so handy."

Though today it wasn't quite as handy as it usually was, he'd had to look for nearly two minutes before he'd found it jammed down in that file folder. But really, why should he have to haul his ass all the way to the corner to go to the bank if there was twenty bucks just sitting there collecting dust?

Not that he'd ever make that argument to Emily, she'd be KICKING his ass all the way to the corner and back if she ever heard that argument.

And then his humor fled like a nitrous powered street racer when he saw the expression that came over her face.

Oh man. . . he swallowed . . . he might very well be getting his ass kicked to the corner regardless.

"I'm sorry," Emily ground out through clenched teeth, "did you just say that it was MY fault that you steal from me?"

Please God, don't tell me he was actually stupid enough to say that out loud. But as she saw Morgan's jaw open and close once . . . and then twice as no words came out, Emily knew that he was just that stupid. And then she started to calculate just how long it was going to take him to get her boot out of his ass. And then she decided that she just might have to change into another pair.

Seeing Emily's fist clench as she started to stand up, Morgan finally found his voice again.

"NO, NO, NO!" He started waving frantically. "That's what's not what I meant! Of course it's not your fault that uh . . . I mean . . . um, I meant . . . uh . . . uh . . ."

Realizing that he was a now a man in a dark river without a paddle or a canoe, in desperation Derek tore his eyes away from Emily's to snap them over to his back up.

"REID!"

_A little help kid, come on! _

But Reid was studiously avoiding Morgan's gaze as he mumbled back.

"Can't talk now Derek, tons of paperwork here."

He was SO not getting anywhere near this conversation! Emily was nearing critical mass!

Feeling her blood pressure shooting to dangerous heights, Emily knew that she needed to calm down before she popped something vital. Like a blood vessel.

Or Morgan's head off his body.

Besides . . . she took a deep breath . . . these two were just not worth her time right now. They were just going to keep putting their feet into their mouths and making her angrier, and then she'd end up breaking a nail off in somebody's eye socket and there was no way she was going to have time to see her manicurist again before the weekend.

So for the sake of her French tips, Emily decided to let it go for now. But not before she snatched the twenty off her desk with growl to both of the boys.

"The next person who takes ANYTHING from my bag without my _prior_ permission will lose a limb of my choosing. Is that understood?"

"Uh, huh" and "oh yeah," were the immediate overlapping replies and Emily shot them both one more nasty look before she turned and stalked up the stairs.

She'd never in her life wanted to see Hotch more than she did at that moment.

/*/*/*/*/*/

**Three Minutes Earlier**

Fifteen minutes after he got back to his office, Hotch heard a knock on his open door.

Expecting Emily had finally returned, he looked up from his paperwork with a little smile.

But . . . he immediately wiped the grin away . . . not Emily. It was Luisa.

His brow wrinkled . . . and she looked distraught.

"Is there a problem Luisa?" He asked hesitantly.

Crap. Please don't let there be a problem. He really wasn't in the mood for live and in person problems. He already had more than two dozen email/phone problems.

That was more than enough.

But unfortunately Luisa didn't answer him, she just started getting all teary eyed, and then he started to think something really awful had happened. So he dropped his pen and stood up.

"What?" he walked around his desk, "what is it?"

And then the next thing he knew Luisa had flung herself at him.

"Oh sir," she threw her arms around his neck, "I was just typing up your notes on the Idaho killings! I can't believe it," she cried, "it was just so AWFUL! Those poor, poor people were butchered by that psychopath!"

'_Sociopath_,' he automatically corrected in his head. And then he berated his idiocy.

'_MORON! Your analysis of Leonard Makowski's anti-social tendencies isn't really doing anything to help the predicament you've now found yourself in now is it?' _

Said predicament being that his new, young . . . FEMALE . . . assistant had just hurled herself into his arms and then started sobbing on his shoulder!

Hurling and sobbing were serious boundary violations! Really, as far as intrusion into his personal space . . . he felt a spike of panic as she dug her fingernails into his jacket . . . this was OFF THE CHARTS!

The first two words to enter his mind were "oh" and "shit." Beyond that he didn't know what the hell to do! Because after an awkward, "uh, there, there" with his hands still posed stiffly in the air, he'd pretty much gone dry.

Though his instinctive inclination was to fling her across the room, that was probably a bit of a cruel reaction to somebody who was upset and had come to him seeking comfort.

Not to mention a potentially _litigious_ reaction given the sharp points on the coffee table. With his luck she'd bust her head open like a piñata.

So okay . . . his jaw twisted . . . that one was a no go.

Think Aaron, THINK! He just didn't know why she was so upset! Though yes, he understood that these cases could be very "upsetting" for laypeople . . . of which Luisa was one . . . it's not like she was a grieving relative, or one of the victims. _Those_ people he could deal with. He had training and experience, but even then . . . his nose wrinkled in distaste as he got a whiff of Luisa's perfume . . . he still wasn't inclined to pull anybody into a hug. That was something Emily would do.

EMILY!

As her lovely face popped into his head Hotch felt a flood of relief . . . Emily was FABULOUS with relatives, victims, upset children, everybody. Basically . . . unlike him . . . Emily was a people person, and Luisa was a person, ergo, Emily would have no problem at all figuring out what to do for her. And thank GOD she should be coming in at any second!

But in the meantime . . . Hotch awkwardly patted Luisa's back while simultaneously attempting to contort backwards to place at least an inch of space between them . . . he was just trying to figure out how to get this girl OFF of him!

A millisecond later he heard Emily's voice from across the room.

"I'm sorry . . . is this a bad time?"

Two seconds earlier Hotch had been praying for her to show up, but when he heard the amount of frost on Emily's question, his eyes snapped over to the doorway to see her eyes boring a hole into him.

If she'd had a blow torch and a tank of propane she'd be inflicting less damage on his ocular cavities.

Feeling a small panic ball rising up, Hotch tore his gaze away from Emily's as he looked down to Luisa . . . unfortunately still playing the part of the swamp leech . . . and then back over again to the beautiful, sweet woman with whom he'd ordinarily wish to spend all of his spare time.

She looked like she was ready to take off a testicle.

Oh crap . . . Hotch swallowed as he tried to get a little more space between him and the suction cupped assistant . . . he was in big trouble.

_

* * *

_

_A/N 2: Poor Hotch. Probably should have gone with 'flung her across the room' while he had the chance. _

_Dr. Lecter of course is not mine. Though given the ridiculousness of this world the idea of crossing it in some fashion with Silence of the Lambs does amuse me. And Garcia would definitely be into Twilight. And I can see Hotch being tortured by his osmosis knowledge of all things vampire/werewolf related that he's overheard in the break room._

_Hoping to wrap this in one, maybe two more chapters. I do have like three more of these Finding stories in partial draft form so I'd love to get this done this month so I can get up another one. _

_There should be an update on Love, Unexpected tomorrow, and something else, maybe two something elses, before the weekend. As always kids, feedback feeds the muses ;) _


	3. Fight Club

**Author's Note**: Sorry it took a bit to get the end up here. I've really had this draft done for awhile but the way it was coming together, though it was organic to the scene, at first the tone of it didn't seem to flow with that of the first two chapters. Basically I couldn't make it as "funny" as I felt the bar had been set for this one. And that was irritating me to no end, which obviously doesn't help when I'm trying to write "the witty." So in an effort to move this one out of my working drafts folder, I read over the other Finding stories to get the feel for the overall universe again. That's when realized (to my relief) that this ending actually _does_ work with what's gone up before. If you've read the others, you'll see.

So, bottom line, though this one does have a bit of the funny in it, it also has a fair amount of angst as well. But as they say, the course of true love . . . yada yada.

Either way, it's done! And hope you like the end :) And remember, this is H/P months before they get together. Neither is aware of the other's unrequitedness. Dopes.

Direct continuation of the last scene.

* * *

**Story Title Forum, Prompt Set #10**

Author: Faith Baldwin

Title Challenge: That Man is Mine

* * *

**Fight Club**

Emily's stomach dropped as she stared across Hotch's office in disbelief.

What the hell was going on in here? Luisa had herself wrapped around Hotch like Static Cling.

That . . . that . . .

For a moment Emily was too stunned at was she was seeing to even come up with a word.

SKANK, WHORE . . . **BITCH!**

The words came flying into her head with the simultaneous shooting of her diastolic to the mid 160s. Then her brain was pulling up the color photo guide of the few dozen or so ways she knew how to dispose of a human being. She was leaning towards number thirty seven.

Tent poles, rope and dermestid beetles.

And of course ear plugs for all the screaming.

Now the fact that Emily _technically_ held no claim to Hotch was utterly irrelevant to her at that moment. No . . . her temper reached boiling point as her fingernails began to dig into her palm . . . the only thing that WAS relevant was how much plastic surgery Luisa was going to require to duct tape that face back together after Emily was done with her.

And she was indeed seriously considering beating the whore senseless, when suddenly the bigger picture of what was happening clicked into place.

It wasn't just Luisa . . . Emily's eyes snapped up and locked onto Hotch's stunned ones . . . it was Hotch too.

He had his arm around her.

Then suddenly feelings of hurt and stupidity started to claw up and jockey for space in Emily's already whirling brain.

"I'm sorry . . ." her words were ice as her fingernails gouged through her skin, drawing blood. "Is this a bad time?"

Even through her rage, Emily could see the veiled panic in Hotch's eyes . . . but she didn't care. She didn't care that he wasn't accountable to her. She didn't care what he was doing, if he thought he had a good reason. The point was . . . the hurt started to completely override her anger . . . she'd come up here because she'd had a lousy day and she'd missed him and needed him to make her feel better. And this is what she'd found.

Him acting like, like . . . hot tears started to burn her eyes . . . MORGAN!

With that thought . . . and the realization that she was getting _entirely_ too emotional for this setting . . . Emily didn't even bother waiting for a response from Hotch . . . his jaw was still gaping anyway . . . she just spun around and stormed out the door.

Yes, she knew that her behavior wasn't particularly professional. But her ramming a letter opener into Luisa's ocular cavity wouldn't be particularly professional either.

Leaving was definitely the lesser of the two evils.

So Emily flew down the stairs without even a thought of stopping at her desk . . . Morgan and Reid were still cowering there where she'd left them . . . and just kept running straight out of the bullpen and through the glass doors.

Part of her knew that out and out fleeing like her hair was on fire wasn't just unprofessional . . . it was straight out immature.

But she didn't give a shit.

She was hurt and pissed and disgusted with her whole ridiculous life and the fact that she could get so upset over the behavior of a man that she wasn't even romantically involved with.

What a pathetic LOSER!

The thought came with a wave of self loathing . . . yet another emotion to add to the mix . . . as her eyes actually started to water. God . . . she quickly started blinking . . . she really needed to get out of there before she humiliated herself even _further _by actually getting weepy in front of anyone.

Just then the subject of her humiliation came flying through the glass door calling her name. Great. Just flipping . . . she jabbed her finger down furiously on the elevator button . . . great!

For a second she tried to just ignore his voice, hoping the elevator would show up before he was within spitting distance.

It didn't.

And seeing it was still three floors away, Emily spun on her heel and ran over to slam through the stairwell a few feet away. She was much too emotional and so not in the mood to hear any excuses or explanations for what she'd just walked into.

She'd seen what she'd seen. So he could just stuff his whatever excuses or explanations where the sun didn't shine. And though Emily knew that it was likely that Hotch would follow her down the stairs too, she was really hoping that her continual motion in the direction opposite his would send a not so subtle hint.

LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE YOU DOUCHE!

And yes, she really wanted to just scream that at him . . . but she kept her tongue. Screaming "douche" at her boss would have been just a tad over the top.

Okay . . . she started running down the stairs . . . more so than what she'd already done.

But as she'd expected (feared) Hotch chose to ignore the waves of anger and hostility she was psychically hurling at him and continued after her. The fire door had barely swung shut before she heard him come hurtling through that one too, still calling after her.

GRRRRRR!

She was screaming in her head as her eyes started to tear up again . . . stupid jerk. Go AWAY!

Still though, even with him hot on her heels, Emily kept going down the stairs. She was past the point of any rational behavior. And as she circled around to the next landing, she completely ignored Hotch's yells for her to stop while trying to pretend like it was totally par for the course to be running away from her boss/the man she was in love with like he was a three am mugger and she'd forgotten her Glock.

But then she felt Hotch's strong fingers latch around her forearm, stopping her cold halfway down the second stairwell.

He'd caught up. Of course. Still, she tried to pull away, but . . . not unsurprisingly . . . Hotch was considerably stronger than she was, so all he did was tighten his grasp.

It didn't hurt but she wasn't going anywhere.

"Emily!" His slightly breathless voice echoed in the empty stairwell, "what the HELL are doing? Why did you leave? And why are you running out?"

Though Hotch's tone sounded almost normal to his own ears . . . okay, not so much "normal" as completely unprofessional in an utterly bewildered and totally stressed out kind of way . . . still he felt that he was doing pretty well at least at disguising the blind panic coursing through his veins. And that was indeed what it was . . . blind panic.

Emily was fleeing from him.

Him.

She might as well have thrown a lasso around his heart before she'd run out, because that's how he'd felt when he saw her spin around with that look of disgust on her face . . . like she was just dragging his heart along with her. It was clear she wanted nothing to do with him, and that was throwing him into a complete tailspin.

All he was trying to do . . . as he ran after her like an idiot . . . was to think how to fix it.

The problem was though . . . Hotch's stomach started twisting as he saw the moisture in her eyes . . . he didn't know how. Yes, getting caught with Luisa latched onto him like that _looked _bad . . . okay, very bad given how she'd pressed herself against him . . . but still, he wasn't actually DOING anything with her! And he'd hope that Emily . . . of all people . . . would have thought better of him. So he had not expected the one woman whose opinion meant the most to him to just run out of his office and make him chase her down like she'd just escaped from an eighteenth century mental asylum.

But what was really throwing him off about her actions was that she didn't seem simply annoyed or shocked at his behavior . . . what he'd expect from a female friend walking in on what she'd (thought) she'd walked in on . . . but instead she was obviously angry and hurt.

The angry he could kind of get . . . it was a step above annoyed . . . but the hurt was what he didn't understand. They didn't have that kind of relationship. Regardless of his feelings for her, they were just friends. His teeth started to grind.

Weren't they?

Emily's tone was tight as her watery eyes fell way from his, dropping to the hand still resting on her arm. "I wasn't . . . I needed some air. Now if you'll please let me . . ."

She hadn't even finished the sentence before Hotch's face suddenly darkened.

"No," Hotch shook his head as he moved around and down to the step in front of Emily, getting their height even, "no," he tightened his hold on her arm as he stated firmly, "I won't let you go until you tell me what's wrong and why you're running away."

Hotch thought he was being proactive . . . nipping this in the bud . . . but then immediately realized from the physical recoil of Emily's body that his "chief tone" was doing nothing to bridge this horrible gap that had just sprung up between them. So he took a breath and then leaned down slightly to catch her eyes where they'd fallen away.

Then he whispered.

"It's not what just happened in my office is it? Because you know that was just," he shrugged uncomfortably, "Luisa was upset about a case file and she's, well she's young and apparently has some boundary issues that I hadn't picked up on yet."

And then . . . seeing an opportunity to reconnect . . . Hotch decided to ask the favor he was going to ask earlier in the day.

"Actually," he tried giving Emily a little smile as he moved his hand down to squeeze her fingers, "I was going to ask you if you could maybe talk to her about that for me."

Though the request had seemed sound in his head . . . he and Emily had become close friends over the years and they did favors for one another all the time . . . as he saw the stunned expression appear on her face, he'd realized that he'd just seriously fucked up.

Again.

Emily's jaw dropped at Hotch's request. Had he ACTUALLY just said the words that she thought that he'd just said?

That AAROGANT son of a . . .

Before the rest of the expletives started flying through her brain, Emily yanked her hand away from his, narrowly resisting the urge to slap him squarely across the face as she stepped back up a stair.

The height differential helped.

"If I might make an observation," Emily's tone was dripping with disdain as she stared down at him, "Luisa's 'boundary' issues might perhaps be a consequence of _your_ behavior."

Seeing his look of astonishment at that revelation, Emily's eyes started to burn again . . . but still she kept going.

"Little hint Hotch, if you're going to go around touching a young girl like that in your office, then what do you expect that she's going to think?" Her eyes fell away from his as her voice faded. "What do you think anybody would think?"

There was a moment of pregnant silence . . . and then Hotch came back again.

"Emily . . ."

His voice was strained with emotion as his fingers reached for hers again . . . but Emily wasn't having any of it. Again, she yanked her hand away, her head snapping up as she ground out.

"Unless you have a legitimate _work_ reason that necessitates you speaking with me right now, then I would appreciate if you would please leave me alone . . . _sir_."

She tacked on the sir because she knew it would hurt him . . . and it did. She could see it on his face . . . the blink . . . almost like she'd gone through with the slap. And though she absolutely felt that she was in the right and he was in the wrong . . . of all the NERVE him behaving like that and asking _her_ to speak to the skank(!) . . . Emily couldn't deny that she still felt a stab in her chest when she saw that flash of pain on his face and knowing that she'd put it there.

But then she reminded herself again . . . he deserved it. And there's no way that she'd hurt him half as much as he'd hurt her. He couldn't be that hurt because he didn't care about her the way she did about him.

Now she was wondering if he ever would.

Hotch felt like he'd been punched in the gut. Not only had Emily ripped her hand out of his _twice_ in as many minutes, but then she'd "sirr'ed" him. She hadn't "sirr'ed" him in two years. They had moved beyond that.

Or . . . he felt an ache in his chest as she pushed passed him . . . he thought they had.

And though he wanted her to stay and talk to him, to tell him what exactly he needed to do to make her forgive him for what he'd done in the office, it was clear that she wanted no part of that conversation. And she was right, he had no legitimate work reason which necessitated her speaking to him any longer. So though it was tearing his gut apart . . . he let her go.

"We can talk later," he said softly as he stared down at the beautiful face which refused to lift up to look at him. And all he got in return for his statement was a quick jerk of her head and a husky, "I'm taking lunch." Then she started down the staircase again.

Hotch watched her going round and round until she reached the ground floor. Then he waited still until he heard the fire door open . . . and then slam shut again. It was six full flights.

She didn't look back once.

/*/*/*/

Three days later . . . Thursday night. . . Hotch found himself jammed into the corner of the team's local hangout nursing his second beer. Though ordinarily he'd have to be dragged to these types of excursions, this time when Dave had popped his head in to say that they were all going out simply because it was a full moon . . . Garcia's idea for an outing of course . . . Hotch had readily grabbed his jacket.

He was still trying to get Emily to forgive/talk/look at him . . . pick a verb . . . and he felt like he might have more luck in a private outing than he'd been having at work. Really, since Emily had walked into his office on Monday and caught him in what _appeared_ to be a totally inappropriate clinch with his cradle robbing ginger haired assistant, she hadn't spoken a word to him.

Or more specifically she hadn't spoken a _nice _word to him.

When she deigned to speak to him at all . . . which was only when spoken to for work matters . . . everything out of her mouth was clipped and curt and completely professional. There were no smiles for him, no jokes, no laughing . . . he bit his lip . . . no Emily. It was just . . . Prentiss.

Prentiss from years ago.

That's all he was getting. Detached, on duty Supervisory Special Agent Prentiss. She was normal with everybody else, but the woman was 'sirr'ing' _him_ left and right! It was killing him! Seriously, _killing_ him. And he wanted so badly to pull her into his office and just order her to be his friend again.

To be his Emily.

Of course he knew that he couldn't do that, but he really was getting desperate. If this went on through the weekend he was seriously considering inflicting some sort of minor injury on himself . . . like lighting himself on fire maybe . . . just to see if she'd show any personal interest in his condition.

Hotch paused with his beer halfway to his mouth, staring across the crowded bar at Emily and JJ playing darts in the corner.

They were laughing.

It was the first time in Hotch's life that he'd been jealous of another woman.

Then Dave's voice cut through his thoughts.

"Why is Emily treating you like something on her shoe? What did you do?"

Dave had been wanting to ask Hotch this question all week, but every time he tried to broach the subject . . . after hours . . . Hotch had picked up his phone and said he had to make a call. Yeah, he was a lying sack, but it was an effective deflection.

Still though, it was obvious by Tuesday morning that something had happened between the unrequited lovebirds. Hotch had walked into the conference room and sat down in his usual seat next to Emily . . . then she promptly got up and moved three chairs down. At the time she'd muttered to the three other people in the room . . . Reid and Garcia were late . . . that she had a headache and the sun was in her eyes. But Dave had seen the flash of distress on Hotch's face when she'd stood up . . . like she'd just asked him for a divorce . . . and Dave had known then . . . his buddy was in the doghouse.

Of course with Hotch's complete obstinacy when it came to discussing this point, Dave had been unable to assist him in getting out of it. Really . . . he took in the tension in Hotch's limbs . . . who had more experience pissing off women than he did?

Exactly!

And the dumbass wasn't even volunteering to take in his years of experience to help him out of a jam that he obviously had no knowledge of how to get out of on his own. If he had then obviously he wouldn't have been sitting there alone with Dave when it was obvious how much he wanted to be across the room with Emily and the others playing darts.

Processing Dave's accusatory tone . . . one that he'd heard oh so many unwelcome times before . . . Hotch's head snapped up to see Rossi staring at him.

"I didn't _do_ anything!" He shot back defensively.

The response was simply automatic when it came to Dave . . . the man busted his balls at every opportunity . . . but then Hotch immediately remembered that he had _indeed_ done something . . . he'd not flung Luisa out of an eighth story window when he had the chance.

And given the Eyebrow of Incredulity he was getting from Dave, it had to have been a fairly obviously lie to him as well.

So he sighed and gave a little ground . . . a very little.

"Emily is just a bit . . . upset with me right now," Hotch's eyes fell back to the table as his voice faded, "I don't know why."

He did of course, but he did not wish to discuss the issue with Dave. He'd been AVOIDING discussing this issue with Dave all damn week! Because in exchange for (non)relationship advice from the man who had screwed more women than Hotch had possibly even MET in his life, he would have had to tell him what occurred in his office on Monday.

And that was just never happening.

"Really," Rossi's eyebrow went up another notch as he responded flatly, "your closest friend at the Bureau is treating you like an 18th century leper and you don't have ONE frigging clue as to _why_ that might be?"

Again, such a _lying_ sack of SHIT! Because really, all the tail he'd chased over the years had taught Dave a few important things about relationships with women. First and most important, do not clip your toenails in the living room. Ever. Second, if a woman asks if her pants/jean/skirt/dress makes her ass look big, even if said ass looks like the side of a barn, the answer is always an emphatic, unequivocal, "NO." And lastly, if the woman in your life was freezing you out for three days straight . . . and make no mistake, declared or not, Emily was indeed the 'woman' in Hotch's life . . . you _always_ had a clue. You might not be able to pinpoint the exact point of contention . . . they were women after all, and God knows the things that could set them off . . . but you could at least narrow it down. And Dave could see from the flicker of discomfort on Hotch's face that he had most definitely narrowed it down.

"Well," Hotch's jaw twitched as he started peeling up the napkin in front of him, "I might have a _small_ clue as to what the problem might be," he shot Dave a hard look, "but I'll handle it myself."

Clearly Dave was in 'nosy bastard' mode . . . default position . . . but maybe if Hotch was just vague with the details, then he'd move on to the next thing.

"I figured as much," Rossi shook the ice in his glass, "care to share?"

"No."

The word came with a full on scowl . . . or maybe he wouldn't move on to the next thing.

Pain in the ass.

Seeing how stubborn Hotch was being about this . . . like it wasn't in everyone's interest for them to 'kiss' and make up . . . Dave leaned across the table.

"All right then," he sighed, "if you're going to be that way about it, I'm just going to give you some generic advice that has been working for men the last few hundred years or so."

"Really," Hotch asked drily as his eyes snapped up to meet Dave's, "and what might this _magical_ advice be?"

This out to be good.

"Get your ass over there and ask her to dance."

"What?" Hotch sputtered as he dropped the shredded paper from his hands, "what the hell are you talking about? _That's_ your 'generic' advice to cover all situations? Ask her to DANCE?"

What kind of BONEHEADED advice was that? Ask her to dance. Not only had they never done that before . . . though he would love to . . . in the current state of their non-relationship, she was liable to hand him his balls just for asking. And they were off duty so there'd be little he could do to stop her. She was entitled to spend her free time with whomever she wanted, and if he didn't respect the fact that she clearly didn't want to spend time with him right now . . . his stomach twisted . . . then he'd just be another creep in a bar that was bothering her.

Not a hoped for stop on the future greatest love story ever told.

Seeing the physical recoil Hotch had at just the thought of taking such a step, Dave bit down his smirk . . . the man was so far gone and he still didn't know what to do with himself. So now it was time for some tough love.

Of the non whips and chains variety of course.

"Listen Aaron," Dave lowered his voice slightly to focus his point, "I don't know what exactly happened between you and Emily, and I get that you don't want to tell me, but I'm going to guess it had something to do with that Lolita you hired to push papers for you."

Watching Hotch's eyes pop in surprise, Dave knew that he'd indeed guessed correctly as to the nature of the problem at hand. He was only sorry he'd missed the fireworks.

"Okay then," he gave him a knowing nod, "now that that's confirmed, I'm going to tell you something with all due respect and affection."

"What's that?" Hotch asked warily.

"You're a fucking moron."

"Well," Hotch rolled his eyes, "as long as you say it with affection then I guess it's okay."

Asshole.

Rossi rolled his eyes. "Really Aaron, how could you _not_ see that one coming? The two of them hated each other on sight. Our sweet, good natured Emily wanted to scratch the girl bald. And that little hootchie mama immediately pegged Emily as her primary competition."

"Competition," Hotch interjected in bewilderment, "competition for what?"

"YOU! You dumbass!" Dave yelled. And seeing it take a moment for the utterly blank expression on Hotch's face to morph into one of shock and understanding, he rolled his eyes.

"Sometimes it's impossible to believe that you actually run a unit dedicated to the study of human behavior," Rossi muttered under his breath.

"What was that?" Hotch asked absentmindedly. His mind was still too distracted with what Dave had just said. Competition. Emily and Luisa had been in "competition" for his attention. That had honest to God gone right over his head. Probably because Luisa was young enough to be his daughter . . . disgusting . . . and Emily, he didn't think she thought of him that way. But now looking back at her behavior in the stairwell through the lens that Dave had given him, it all made sense. That's why she was hurt and angry when what he would have expected in that moment was annoyance. She was jealous.

This changed things . . . this changed everything.

And for a second Hotch felt a burst of joy fill his heart . . . but then he remembered . . . fraternization.

FUCK!

All the reasons that he hadn't made any attempt to declare his affection for Emily TO Emily, still held true. It didn't matter that his feelings now might actually be reciprocated . . . they still couldn't act on them. And his hopes were dashed as a wave of sadness filled him.

This changed nothing.

Watching the display of emotions whirl across the face of his normally stoic friend, Dave felt a pang of sympathy. He could tell from the hand scrub across his mouth that Hotch was just as confused now as he'd been five minutes earlier.

Though for obviously different reasons.

And Dave knew that it was too soon for him to tell his buddy to jump off the cliff . . . if he honestly hadn't seen until just now that Emily was just as devoted to him as he was to her, they weren't ready for that yet. Still though . . . he reached over and patted Hotch's forearm . . . that didn't mean he couldn't help him fix things back to what they were a week ago.

Back when they were happy just to be in the same room together.

"Aaron," he said softly, "I'm serious, just go ask her to dance. It'll fix it." Seeing Hotch's gaze slowly drag up from the table to lock on to his, Dave gave him a little smile.

"I promise."

For a moment the two men stared at one another, then Hotch bit his lip.

"If she slugs me," he said slowly as he pushed back his chair, "I'm making you take Garcia to the next midnight screening of Twilight."

Dave's lips twitched as he leaned back in his seat.

"She already set up a Team Jacob screensaver on my computer."

/*/*/*/*/

Hotch was licking his lips as he started pushing his way through the crowd.

Even though he'd just downed two beers, his mouth was dry. And he was wondering when was the last time that he had a case of nerves just at the thought of speaking to a woman. But of course . . . he slowly moved across the room . . . Emily wasn't _just_ a woman. She was the first woman that he'd cared for since Haley had left him a broken shell of what he was before. And now he'd just come to realize . . . perhaps a bit late to the party . . . that maybe someday they might actually have a chance to try for something more than what they had now.

That all depended on how well he sorted out the mess he'd made.

As he crossed around the dance floor, he noticed Emily moving away from the larger group playing darts . . . she was heading to the bar.

Perfect.

Ideally Hotch would rather not humiliate himself in front of the entire team. So he changed his course as well, hurrying over to catch up with her before she got into the line for drinks.

And he did.

He walked up just as she stepped back to let a girl cut in front of her . . . she was pregnant and asked Emily if she could just get a quick refill on her orange soda . . . and for a second he just stood behind her, waiting to see if she'd noticed his presence yet.

No.

Or if she did . . . she didn't let on. So he tentatively reached out and put his hand on her shoulder.

"Emily," he leaned forward slightly to whisper in her ear, "would you like to dance?"

Feeling Hotch's warm breath on her skin, Emily jumped as a shiver went down her spine. And that was stupid, because she'd known that he was standing behind her before he even opened his mouth.

She could smell Hotch anywhere.

Okay, that phrase sounded less than flattering but, oh well. The principle was the same . . . his scent drove her mad. And just for a second . . . as he complete invaded her senses . . . she forgot that she was pissed at him.

Just for a second.

It had been the same damn 'frozen in time' moment every time he invaded her space. That's why she'd had to move her seat on Tuesday . . . and every other day that week . . . it would have been impossible to stay pissed off with him that close.

Stupid pheromones.

But as she had done repeatedly the last three days, she quickly recovered from her momentary . . . embarrassing . . . fifteen year old girl response to his presence. And then she remembered (again) that he was a big stupid jerk . . . okay, yeah the fifteen year old girl was perhaps still in residence . . . and she spun around to shoot him the same nasty look that she had every time he'd tried to get into her good graces.

But then she saw him standing there in front of her with his shirtsleeves rolled up and the soft . . . nervous . . . expression on his face. And Emily just couldn't give him the cold shoulder again.

It was because he was nervous.

Hotch was never nervous. Like you could play Russian roulette with the man and he'd spin down to the last chamber without breaking a sweat. But here he was nervous now.

Talking to _her._

Oh . . . she bit her lip as a wave of affection flooded her body . . . that was ADORABLE!

And though at first it kind of pissed her off that she was that much of a chick that she'd put aside her principles just for something like that . . . him being cute . . . then she reminded herself of something else. Something very important.

She wasn't actually going to stay angry with him _forever_.

Obviously she was eventually going to get over what had happened in his office. And then she'd stop being pissed at him for having a penis, because well, she had a life. So best to just choose to let it go now so she could stop feeling stressed out every time she saw him.

Also . . . her expression softened slightly . . . God knows the next time he'd be going out with the team. She was shocked when he'd shown up with Dave tonight. And even if he DID go out with the team again, what were the odds that he'd actually ask her to dance again?

Oi . . . she felt a burst of panic that this might be her one shot . . . she needed to get on this before he came to his senses!

Still though, she tried to outwardly maintain a modicum of dignity by giving him only a half hearted shrug.

"I guess," she murmured, "if you'd like to do that then I could maybe do that with you."

Seeing Emily's defensive posture immediately drop right before she said yes, Hotch's face lit up.

"You would? Great!"

Wow! Rossi had actually given him SOUND advice when it came to dealing with a woman.

That's one.

So he hurriedly moved things along before she changed her mind.

"Okay then, uh, after you," he gave her a little smile as he put his arm out and stepped back to let her go in front of him.

Seeing the flash of happiness and relief on Hotch's face, Emily's pride actually got a boost when she saw that of the two of them . . . for an astounding change after what happened Monday . . . Hotch was the one that was wearing his emotions on his sleeve.

That had never happened before.

But it was painfully clear how much he needed her to forgive him. So much so that she started to feel even better about her decision to let things go sooner than later. If he was this desperate for absolution then clearly the three days she'd made him twist in the wind hadn't been for nothing.

He'd gotten the point.

And when Emily started to move towards the dance floor she felt him fall in behind her, his body so close that she could feel the warmth radiating off of him. _Heat_, her brain corrected as her breathing started to speed up, _she could feel the HEAT, radiating off of him_.

Okay, calm down Em . . . she told herself with an outward huff . . . you're not going off to do it in the coat closet, it's just a little fence mending dance.

Keep some frigging pride why don't you.

And she kept with that mantra . . . the keeping the pride one . . . all the way across the bar. But then they stepped onto the dance floor over by the far wall, and Hotch tugged her to his chest. And for a second she made a real effort to remain stiff and removed from him, but it was very difficult to retain the pride thing when he was all hot and gorgeous and pressed so deliciously against her front. And then the song changed to an old Faith Hill . . . How Do I Live Without You . . . and her resolved crumbled even further.

Then she heard him whisper the magic words in her ear.

"I'm sorry."

And her breath caught as her eyes remained focused on his chest.

"Okay," she murmured back softly as they began to move to the music, "but do you know I was so angry?"

Though it was torture to put the question out there, she needed to know.

"Yes," he rubbed her back, "I do. I allowed a situation get out of control, and then I compounded the problem by asking you to intercede in a matter that was mine to fix. That was wrong." He leaned down slightly to press his lips to Emily's ear.

"Tomorrow I'm going to have Luisa transferred to the field office in Baltimore."

It had become obvious over the last few days that the girl did not have what it took to work in the BAU . . . her quality of work was not up to the standard set by Betty . . . but now Hotch could also see that Dave was right. She was overly interested in his personal well being.

He just hadn't noticed that's what it was until Rossi brought it to his attention.

And he never had gotten around to that "boundaries" conversation with her because he'd been too distracted with the Emily situation. Basically he'd just kept Luisa locked out of his office the last three days until he'd decided what he was going to say to her.

Apparently . . . sayonara!

Emily froze in Hotch's arms, trying not to scream out the ecstatic "YES!" that was on the tip of her tongue. Instead she tipped her head back and looked up at him with what she hoped was an even expression.

"And why would you do that?"

Please give the right answer here Aaron!

"I don't think she's a good fit for our unit," Hotch said softly, "the bar's too high and the work's too important. So," his eyes locked with Emily's as his hand ran slowly down her back, "I think it's best that she goes somewhere else."

His eyebrow rose slightly.

"What do you think about that?"

"I think," Emily's responded slowly as her gaze shifted over his shoulder, "that some people might be bothered by that decision." Her eyes snapped back to his as some of her residual anger began to creep back, "some people seemed to like her."

And some people wished to see her get genital warts on her face.

Potato, Potahto.

"That's true," Hotch tipped his head, "some people did."

Feeling Emily's body start to stiffen up again, Hotch quickly pressed his lips to her ear, "but the people who mattered didn't, and that's really why I think she should sooner than later."

Hopefully, this would show him how much he cared about her opinion. That he placed her first even now. It might not be the most professional way to handle staffing . . . but his other issues with Luisa's work were real. She really wasn't that good. And he really didn't have the time or inclination to train her to be better.

She wasn't worth the effort.

Tears began to prick Emily's eyes when she heard Hotch's words. And though she knew that some kind of response was probably expected from her right now, all she could do was stare at the loosened knot on his tie.

Hotch was transferring the skank ho out for her. Because _she_ didn't like her.

He was totally and completely . . . FORGIVEN! And Emily was seriously considering knocking him to the ground and tearing his clothes off with her teeth. Okay granted, they were in the middle of a crowded public arena so doing it with her boss would probably be violating a few indecent exposure laws.

Also, she'd mostly likely end up on YouTube. Plus, the floor was probably really sticky and she'd end up with a beer cap stuck to her ass . . . but still, even with all those points in the con column.

She was tempted.

The gesture was just that big. But then she realized that she still hadn't said anything back to him. Plus she now felt like a complete jerk for freezing him out for the last three days.

She needed to fix that.

They might not be anything more than total platonic friends right now . . . another few years to go before she could follow through on that naked YouTube video . . . but they were still close. He had become her closest friend at the office.

Her closest friend period.

So Emily knew that she needed to do something to put things back to the way they were before. And also to thank him for ranking her feelings first above everyone else's. So she shuffled an inch closer, took a breath . . . and put her head down on Hotch's chest. She'd never done that before. It was a big deal. And really, REALLY scary!

What would he do?

But then a second later . . . Hotch's arms were coming up and he was squeezing her to his chest.

It was a hug.

Emily's eyes started to sting . . . Hotch was hugging her. He'd never hugged her before.

Ever.

It wasn't scary at all anymore, it was just . . . right.

"I'm sorry I called you an ass face." she murmured softly against his shirt.

Though she wouldn't apologize for being angry . . . her feelings were valid, if not a little over the top . . . but she could apologize for not handling the whole thing more maturely.

She should have just told him what was wrong and saved herself three days of stress and anger.

"You never called me an ass face," Hotch whispered back in bewilderment.

"Yes, I did," Emily said sheepishly as she tipped her head back to look up at him, "just not loudly enough for you to hear me."

Hotch's lips started to twitch. "Ah, well, then thank you for the apology."

"No problem," her eyes crinkled slightly, "thank you for shipping the skank out to Baltimore."

"No problem," Hotch responded with half a dimple. And they stared at each other for a moment before a hint of sadness touched Emily's smile.

"I don't like being angry with you," she whispered.

Translation = I missed you. And she was pretty sure that Hotch got that, because he squeezed her tightly to his chest for a moment. Then he murmured against her temple.

"I don't like you being angry with me either," Hotch said as he leaned back, looking down hopefully. "So do you think next time you're upset with me, that you'll tell me why so we can fix it?"

Even if they couldn't move their relationship forward yet . . . and he now had genuine hope one day that they would . . . it would be good if they could start working out the kinks early.

Communication was important.

"Yes," Emily impulsively leaned up to press a quick kiss to his cheek, "I promise." Then she sighed dramatically as her head fell back to his chest again.

"I had nobody to complain to about Spencer and Derek. They've been stealing my money," she huffed. And a second later she felt a chuckle run through Hotch's chest right before he tugged her closer.

"Well," he whispered against her ear, "I'm here now so tell me what they did, and then tell me what you want me to do to them."

This is what he missed . . . just having her come to him. Letting him be the guy in her corner. And her taking that from him was almost as painful an experience as it had been when Haley had done the same thing. Yes, he was equating the loss of Emily's affection on par with the loss of his wife of twenty years.

And that probably said more about his feelings for the woman in his arms than words ever could.

So now that his world was right again, Hotch pushed aside all thoughts of decorum and professional distances . . . they were off duty and hidden in a dark corner of a crowded bar . . . and danced with Emily. For song after song they stayed with her tucked close to his chest as Hotch listened to her tell him about all of the things . . . big and small . . . that had happened to her that week.

And he was deliriously happy.

But when she paused for a moment in her recap to ask him how he was doing without Betty, his eyes suddenly popped.

"Oh," he started digging in his pants pocket, "that reminds me, I have something for you." A second later he pulled out a . . . somewhat crumpled . . . little white envelope.

"Betty left you a letter," he huffed slightly, "I've been carrying it around all week waiting until you were talking to me so I could give it to you.

Hotch saw Emily's gaze come up to lock on to his . . . and then her eyes began to water as she bit her lip.

"What's wrong?"

There was a touch a touch of panic to the question as his hand came up to touch her cheek. He couldn't imagine what he'd done to upset her now . . . Dave was right about women being an enigma . . . but then she shook her head, giving him a bright, watery smile that set his racing heart at ease.

He wasn't going to have to start groveling again.

"I'm okay," Emily sniffled as she wiped the corner of her eye, "just a bit tired I guess. But," she cleared her throat as she took the envelope from his hand, "thank you for this. I was um," she coughed as she tucked the envelope into her own pants pocket, "going to ask you if she'd left me a note."

She couldn't believe he'd been carrying it around with him all week . . . just waiting for the moment that she would forgive him. If she hadn't already . . . Emily buried her face in his chest as her fingers clutched his shirt . . . she absolutely would have now.

And then she felt him tip his head down to rest against hers right before he whispered.

"If you're that tired, do you want go home?"

But she quickly shook her head as she held on just a little tighter, "no, no not yet. It's still early.

Now that they were all made up . . . and they moved into a new soft, cuddling phase of their relationship . . . she wasn't about to cut this moment short before he did. And sure enough as soon as she answered the question, Emily felt the tension leave Hotch's body. Then the song changed again . . . How To Save A Life . . . and she heard him ask tentatively. "What do you want to talk about now?"

A soft sigh escaped as she smiled against his chest.

"Anything," she snuggled in closer, "anything at all. Your choice."

It wasn't hot, passionate YouTube worthy sex, but . . . he began telling her about the new case he'd received yesterday . . . it was them together. Again.

And that was enough for now.

* * *

_A/N 2: So yeah, you can see, the angst at the beginning was needed. Their feelings for one another in this world are just as "real" as any of the others. So digging into that, the hurt and betrayal (real or imagined) wasn't going to be funny. And it would have been farcical to try and make it as such. Basically it wouldn't have rung true to them. But I thought overall it being a sweeter chapter fit in just fine with the other Finding stories. Aside from Dave's misadventures on St. Paddy's, they all have a bit of angst and cuddling in them. So I guess in the future I should just go with my initial instincts and then things will get resolved much faster :)_

_But the bottom line, yay, crossed another open one off the list! As always a 'wa hooh!' moment. Also, this moves their relationship forward a bit. Because again, both oblivious to the others feelings at the beginning here, but by the end, Hotch at least gets their probably on the same page. And that's a point that needed to happen at some point because by Valentine's he decided enough's enough on the hovering front. So if I come up with any other stories for the in between point (now to Finding A Tree) they can at least be over that hurdle. I do promise that I will make every effort to make any FUTURE Findings, one shots though :) I hate leaving these hanging (very unexpectedly for me as well) just as much as you people do. Really, this chapter is almost 9000 words, probably 3 chapters for a lot of people, but I made myself keep it all together just so I wouldn't lose momentum again. It was a bastard to proof though! 18 pages! I actually needed a drink by the time I was done._

_I've been all caught up in this one the last few days (again, 18 pages) so I didn't get much else banged out. But I had a few things in draft earlier in the week so I'm hoping to get maybe one more item up tomorrow. Maybe Horses or A Pound Of Flesh. They're the closest to done._

_Again, thanks in advance for the feedback. They still haven't fixed the review response thing (all the response links come back dead) and honest to God, it's driving me nuts. PMs take longer than click backs, and I can't keep track of who I've written back to without cross checking all over the place and that all takes time. I'm not complaining about the reviews or PMs of course :) love to hear from people, always, but just so you know, getting back to everybody, when I get a fair amount of correspondence on a regular basis, is like a whole new project unto itself until they fix this site screw up. So again, thanks everyone and know I'm trying to send notes where I can. I'm also thinking about setting up a whole separate email account just for FF correspondence because now everything feeds into my regular (main) email account and as you know if you have a life, things very quickly slide down the page. In one day suddenly everything's out of sight, two days and then I'm digging to find out what's what. It might be easier to stay on top of things if they were right in one place. But that's just the ramblings in my head :)_


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